


château

by clarkesyd



Category: Kadın (TV)
Genre: F/M, cem knows french because i thought it'd be sexy if he did, i watch a turkish drama i go insane repeat, live from Obscure Pairing Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26308912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkesyd/pseuds/clarkesyd
Summary: Cem and Kismet enjoy a morning in Paris.
Relationships: Cem/Kismet, CemKis
Kudos: 1





	château

**Author's Note:**

> okay alright i doubt there's another soul who cares about this pairing but anyway! putting this out here just in case

Kismet tied the sash of her silk nightgown more tightly around her waist, her movements slowed by drowsiness. Her bare feet threading on the carpet, she made her way to the floor to ceiling windows on the opposite end of the room. Then, not before stealing a glance at the familiar shape on the bed, she drew the curtains open to reveal the bustling Parisian street bellow and the cloudless blue sky above. The Eiffel tower rose in the distance, beautiful and imposing, and Kismet wondered at the circumstances in life that had led her to this precise moment and place. Here she was, away from her country, her family and her work, admiring the view offered by the expensive hotel room where she had spent the last week in her ex-husband’s company. Strange didn’t begin to describe her journey over the past several years. Pressing her forehead against the cold windowpane, she closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of roses. Minutes ticked by. And then–the rustling of sheets, and steps muffled by thick fabric.

“You’re awake,” said a whisper in her ear. Strong arms slid around her middle, and Cem pressed a kiss to her cheek. He didn’t say another word, only pulled her closer, his chin on her shoulder.

“A great view,” he observed after a while, “though I had a better one from the bed, watching you.”

“Hmm. Don’t flatter me.” Her lips curled of their own accord.

“I am no flatterer. Ask anyone.”

“I was married to you, you know.” It was meant as a good-natured jab, but by the time it had rolled off her tongue she found herself wishing she could take it back. He stiffened in response, and she held her breath, mortified, until his body relaxed once again.

He gave a light chuckle. “True. But I meant what I said. You are beautiful, Kismet. The most beautiful woman in the world.”

Relief filled her, and she laughed. “Whatever you say, my love.” She turned her face for a kiss.

He gave it to her–a light kiss, and yet it seemed to melt her core. It shouldn’t be possible to love someone so much, to feel like they are a part of you, but he _was_ a part of her–and sometimes it felt like he was more than that, like the lines of who they were blurred together in places.

“What do you want to do today?”

“Well, we could leave the room for a change.”

“I suppose we could. Where do you want to go? _Du Louvre?_ _Le Château de Versailles? Les Champs-Élysées? Où vous le souhaitez, mon amour_.”

“Showoff. When did your French get so good, anyway?”

“Some of our... _business partners_ happened to be French, and refused to speak in anything but. Had to polish mine. The perks of organized crime.”

Kismet actually laughed at that. “We could start by the café the concierge recommended when we arrived. Which was it? I can’t remember.”

“ _Coutume_.”

“Yes. _Coutume_. So let’s go get dressed.” She turned to do just that, but Cem pulled her to him.

“It’s too early to leave yet. Let’s go back to bed.”

“Absolutely not. If we do, we won’t leave at all.”

“Alright. If that’s what you want...” he trailed off, running a finger down the front of her nightgown and stopping at the neat bow that held it together.

“Cem,” she chastised, but only half-heartedly.

He backed off, however, and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Very well, attorney. You’ve laid your case. Let me shower first.”

They left the hotel a quarter past ten. Outside, the air was chilling with the last remnants of winter, but the sun shone relentless overhead. The combination made for a pleasant spring morning, perfectly suited for a walk in the city.

They strolled at a leisurely pace, holding hands and pointing things out to one another. Kismet felt like a girl again, young and in love and full of plans for the future. She wasn’t a girl any longer, but she was still in love–a deeper kind of love, tested by time and the mistakes they had made–and her future looked brighter than it had in years, if more uncertain.

They still hadn’t decided where they would settle down, _if_ they did, which they might not for some time. She wanted to resume her practice at some point, but it would have to be somewhere Cem couldn’t be extradited. He wasn’t a fugitive, at least not _yet_ , but if he were to be linked with any past schemes in Turkey they might just start looking for him. That bothered Kismet more than she cared to admit.

But now Cem pulled on her arm. He called her attention to a lovely red scarf on display at a storefront, and insisted on purchasing it for her. It was soft to the touch, featherlight, and it matched the shade of her lipstick.

“ _Merci_ ,” she said, and kissed his stubbled cheek. “ _Je t’aime_.”

“ _Moi aussi je t’aime, mon cher_ ,” he whispered back, and put his arm around her.

They made it to _Coutume_ before the clock struck twelve, and entered the packed establishment with enough luck that a nearby booth was being vacated.

After a few minutes of waiting, a young waitress approached their table. “ _Bonjour. Vous avez fait votre choix?_ ”

“ _Un café au lait pour la dame et un expresso pour moi, oui?_ ” Cem looked at her for confirmation.

“ _Oui_.”

The girl typed down their order and walked away, and Kismet turned her attention back to Cem.

“You did it.”

Cem looked confused. “Order? I thought we agreed my French was good.”

“Stop gloating. And that’s not what I meant.”

Cem shrugged. “Then tell me. I have no idea of what you’re talking about.”

“When we were in college, you said you’d take me anywhere. And I asked you–”

“‘Would you take me to Paris?’ and I said, ‘Of course. Anywhere in Europe. Once–’”

“‘–we marry.’”

Silence fell between them. Kismet reached for his hand across the table.

“Cem. We need to work through this. I don’t want to pretend our marriage didn’t exist. I don’t want to pretend our–” A shadow crossed his face, but they needed to have it out to stop the guilt and the pain from eating away at them.

Kismet lowered her voice. “I don’t want to pretend our daughter didn’t exist. And I don’t want to forget.” She felt her eyes begin to water. Cem looked away.

“I’ll never forget her,” he said. “I’ll never forget I’m the reason she’s not here. You were right, all those years ago. It was my fault.”

He was shaking, and she realized how thoughtless she had been, trying to discuss this in a public place. It just never felt like the right time, and she was sick of the ever-present elephant in the room. To move forward, they needed to deal with their past.

“No. No. You couldn’t know the kind of monsters we were dealing with. Neither of us could. I was wrong to blame you. I was hurt, and I lashed out, and you didn’t deserve it. But I’m sorry. So, so sorry. Can you forgive me?”

Cem turned to look at her “Forgive? Kismet, I–”

It was at that exact moment the young waitress came back with their order.

“ _Merci_ ,” they said in unison, almost as an afterthought.

Once they were alone again, or as alone as one could be amidst a crowded coffee place, Cem cupped her face.

“There is nothing to forgive. And you’re right. We can’t pretend none of it ever happened.”

Kismet covered his hands with hers. “No, we can’t. But we can do better this time.”


End file.
